Hungover Beginnings

"Fucking hell", Christopher muttered as he, in a hangover, woke up slowly. He was warm while sweating slightly, with a banging headache which made him feel like the next incursion was opening in his frontal lobe. Where on God's green earth am I?!

As Christopher tried to wake up, drifting in and out of consciousness, he got glimpses of the wooden table he was lying his head upon.

Opening his eyes again, he noticed the warm yellow-orange light, which was being cast upon the table, clearly from a distant fire stove. He saw his half-full pint of beer, and the memories started to gather suddenly. haha, you silly retard, you were at the hotel's pub eating dinner…are*… you ARE at the hotel's pub eating dinner, Fuck…. in a slight panic, he quickly got his head up from the table, giving no mercy for the headache to ease. With the sudden rush of energy to wake up, he grasped his surroundings vividly. He could almost feel the woodpecker drumming on his forehead.

A guitarist was playing on the other side of the room a happy tune to set a mood in the pub. The pub was slightly crowded with people of all sorts of businesses and affairs, enjoying the evening at the tables after their long, harsh journeys, laughing woodworkers, drunken gamblers, service folks taking orders and granting their customers beers, pies, sandwiches, porridge and so on. Even some hungry families had travelled from the country sides travesty—a melting pot of cultures and backgrounds in the same red-painted wooden hall, brought under the same roof, to seek cover for the dark and cold night.

Shit, I must have looked like an alcoholic to these people. His groggy eyes focused on the half-eaten meat pie, now cold and unappetizing. The days before this current event, he had been travelling a two-day journey, allowing little sleep to occur for the nights that arrived. When he had arrived at the Piggy's Den Hotel, he found himself hungry as a wolf and tired like a, well, a man that had slept only four of the forty-two hours he had travelled on foot.

Eh fuck it, no one cares. I could have been in a worse state. He looked down at where his head had laid with eyes that burned like the sun and noticed the little pool of saliva he had drooled out. By the gods, I'm a mess. What if my clients saw me like this!? Christopher looked up again and spotted two girls his age working as the hotel's bartenders, smiling his way.

"Great," he muttered in a sarcastic tone whilst he looked away, pretending he didn't see the cute bar maidens who had now begun whispering. Well, you guys are not discrete about it either; whispering literally makes you stand out more… He rubbed his eyes and closed them briefly whilst gathering his thoughts. In the background, he could hear the guitarist's cheerful song echo in the most southern Swedish accent.

"It was dance, and it was laughter."

"The sun went down after."

"It was summer; it was green woodlands and gold."

"I was young, and you were bold."

"dancing to the bands."

"As we loved and as we held hands."

"It was summer; it was gold and green woodlands."

Christopher's head was pounding, and the warmth felt like an unpleasant sauna. His mouth was dry, his limbs were exhausted, and there was a bit of embarrassment with the current situation. He slightly opened his left eye and peeked through his closed hands as he pretended he was rubbing his eyes. The two clearly invested girls were still throwing curious eyes at him, like children seeing a handicapped person for the first time. It was rather intimidating.

You got this, Anders. Scavenging, outdoor hiking and beginners entry exorcism, This is light work. He rose from the wooden sofa to which he had laid claim. When he stood up, his head got dizzy, and he almost felt like sitting down again. Must stand up straight… cannot succumb to being a bitch… hot blondes are watching… In what must be the most brutal battle to fight, Christopher Anders looked down at the floor, giving out a slight gasp as he took one foot forward and grabbed the sword that was placed beside him. Although his black coat made his movement somewhat clunky, he made his way over to the bartenders, that were now giggling at how he clearly was trying to regain control over his ale-possessed body. As he tussled his way around to the girls, the other barmaid, which now was brunette in the clearer light, said, "good luck!" attending to another customer waving his wine glass in the air.

Christopher laid his arms on the bar disk and put on a charming smile and an aura of Yes, that was on purpose!

"Well, as you and your friend may have noticed, I'm sorta…"

"shitfaced?" The blonde bartender filled in. Christopher raised a displeased eyebrow.

"…Yeah, that's the wor-"

"You wouldn't happen to be a bounty hunter would you?" The girl interrupted with a smile. That's a 2-star review for interrupting customers.

"What gave it away?" He answered with an uninterested tone.

Obviously the sword. I was going to ask for water… but a little small talk can't hurt, especially if I can woo her.

"You reek of troll and Pinetree."

Not the flirty answer I would have hoped for.

"Right. Anyways, as you may have noticed, I could use some water." The girl gave him a warm and teasing smile

"Bring your glass from your table and fill some up from the water well behind the building; unfortunately, we have no cold water in here."

"Thank you," He answered, turning his frown into a smile.

As he turned around to grab his beer glass, the maid yelled: "My shift ends in an hour. Can I have a word with you later, um…?".

Christopher raised his eyebrows and put on a satisfied grin. So she WAS flirting; she was just shit at it. What an ego boost. He turned towards her.

"Name is Christopher! I will meet you back here in an hour then!". The girl smiled at him again. He grabbed his glass with confidence and renewed energy as he walked out of the pub at the bottom level of the hotel.

A cold and chilling October wind greeted him as dusk became night and the city became darker and darker.

The Piggy's Den was on the outskirts of the small Swedish city of Varberg. In recent times, it had seen explosive population growth. Guarded north by the central city of Gothenburg and with a 16th-century fortress guarding its coastline. It had become a haven for the people of southern Sweden. With sea routes close by, crossing over to Denmark and the European continent, Varberg would make for a sufficient trading and migrating hub.

Christopher started walking around this once-regular hotel before the incursion; A clear path had begun forming; once asphalt for cars and vehicles had now started getting muddy and filled with tents and traffic from humans. As he walked to the backyard, he spotted two guards, one armed with a dagger and an axe and the other guardsman with a hunting rifle, possibly an air rifle, with a knife hanging from his belt. They had their backs against the wall, presumably bored guarding.

But it was not the hotel they were guarding but the property's thirty or so pigs lying around in the mud in a fenced garden.

"Is it water?" one of the guardsmen shouted when Christopher diagonally walked towards the water well.

"Yes, I have a horrible hangover that could use it!" He answered whilst also hissing down the bucket into the dark pit of the well as it filled with water.

"Can I ask, are you new to the city?" the other guardsman asked with a curious and friendly tone.

"Yes and no, before the demons, I spent summers in my family's summerhouse here on the west coast." He had begun hissing up the bucket. "Now, some time has gone, and the city has had a makeover, to say the least."

"Haha, I get what you mean; what do you do now for a living?".

"What's up with the questions? is this a job interview?"

"No, no, lad. Communal protocol forces us to make interrogations from time to time. Nothing personal; you simply stand out from the ordinary." The Guardsman defended.

"Well, I currently work as a bounty hunter, taking up various jobs and contracts." Christopher poured out the old beer from his glass and began replacing it with water.

"Well, that might explain the sword. How old are you, son? Seem a bit young to hunt after monsters." Fucking, THANK YOU for noticing the sword. Christopher finished his cold glass of water which both chilled him down on the inside as well as calming down his thirst. The headache had started to fade slowly now.

"Nineteen! twenty by next spring, and you don't need to worry. The army killed off the more dangerous stuff. What little monsters that made it are struggling alone here in the south. I am just the cleaning staff, really."

The guardsman grunted. They were dressed in thick police winter jackets with a regular leather belt around their bellies for gear such as their melee weapons, feeding pouches and keys to the property's entrances, yet they were not policemen.

"I guess it's a good job. Someone must temper those fucking bastards. But I can't imagine it paying very well?". Both the guardsmen looked to be around fifty to sixty years of age, one with a grey beard and a beer belly that the jacket could not hide. The other guard was of middle eastern origin and with a dark moustache and hair. Less belly, slightly younger, or maybe the hair colour doomed the other man to look older.

"Well, yeah, it depends on the job, and since the economy is in a bit of a travesty, the pay rate fluctuates from city to city. And taking on goods instead of currency is a hassle when travelling!" He sunk yet another glass of water before he continued.

"One farmer's family, for example. Tried to pay me with four hens after I had built and trapped a family of foxes." Both Guardsmen chuckled, giving off raised eyebrows and confused looks.

"I thought you hunted demonic creatures?"

"Well, they were convinced they were wood trolls, and I have a reputation to withhold, so who am I to argue?" He replied with a smile. Both Guardsmen cracked a peal of laughter at the absurdity.

"Well, if you excuse me, I am heading back in. Had a fun time chatting with you guys!" Christopher started returning to the steppes he had walked as the guardsmen smiled back.

"You too! Take care, lad." Both guardsmen said as they took farewell. Christopher walked back into the pub now. The girl he had promised a conversation with locked eyes with him at the entrance. Well, I'm heading back to my room. Still have some time to kill.